We leave our pleasant homesteads, We leave our smiling1 farms, At the first call of duty We rush at once to arms ; We rush at once to arms, To guard our coasts we fly, For the land our mothers lived, on Bravely to bleed or die.

Up, boys, and quit your pleasure, Up, men, and quit your toil! The invader's foot must never Be« pressed upon our soil; Be pressed upon our soil, In which our fathers sleep; Their blessed graves our care, boys, Most sacredly must keep.

'Twas in our brave old State, men, That first of all was sung, The thrilling song of freedom That through the land hath rung; That through the land hath rung, And we'll sound its notes once more, Till our men and children shout From the mountain to the shore.